


No Sting

by pearl_o



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Fake Marriage, M/M, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 08:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2725973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/pseuds/pearl_o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik's latest assignment has him undercover as a married couple with Agent Xavier. Luckily, Erik's a professional.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Sting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [comradeocean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/comradeocean/gifts).



Moira closes the presentation and spins in her chair to face them. "Any questions, gentleman?" she asks, one eyebrow perfectly arched.

Erik glances over at the man to his right. It's not the first time his eyes have wandered during Moira's briefing. Just as he has every time before, Xavier looks perfectly cool and composed, his expression fixed on a neutral point Erik almost envies. The man even has his fingers laced together neatly in his lap, for god's sake.

Fine, then. Erik shifts in his chair. "In the past, I've partnered up with Raven on two-person missions," he points out.

"Not actually a question," Moira notes, "but it does continue your record of subtly undermining my instruction on every assignment, so well done for that. No, Agent Darkholme is needed elsewhere at the moment. And, as you should have gathered already, this mission does call for some specialized skills of Agent Xavier's."

It's a fair point. It's not as though Erik has the academic background Xavier does, the endless years of schooling that would allow him to pass through a scientific convention like he belongs there. That's why Erik's job is to keep an eye on the wife, while Xavier focuses on Weber directly, in hopes of gathering the stolen vaccine and switching it for a copy, without getting Weber's hackles up.

Xavier's lips are curled into a ghost of a smile. If Erik didn't know better, he would think the look Moira is shooting him was concern.

"What about you, Charles? Any questions?"

"No," Xavier says, quietly. There's no follow-up invited in his tone. Erik bites his lips and folds his arms against his chest.

"All right," Moira says. "Released, boys. Be ready to leave in six hours."

* * *

Erik lets Xavier drive. He's fairly certain Xavier doesn't realize what a rare privilege it is -- or maybe he does. He's a telepath, after all, and supposedly a pretty powerful one.

"If you're worried about partnering with me--" Xavier says, five miles out.

"Why would I be?"

Xavier doesn't look away from the road, but Erik doesn't miss the way his knuckles clench on the wheel. "I'm sure you're aware I haven't done any fieldwork in a while."

"Since you got shot," Erik says.

Xavier _does_ spare him a glance at that, a split second of blue eyes impressed on Erik's vision, even after he immediately turns back. "Yes," Xavier says. "Since I was shot."

Erik shrugs, leaning back further into the upholestery. "If Moira thinks you're ready, it means Hank's signed off on you physically and Emma's signed off on your psych. I trust them. I trust you to have my back."

"Hm," Xavier says in response, and then they're both silent for some miles. Erik's closed his eyes, let his head settle against the window, the movement and metal all around them settling him down into a half-doze, before Xavier speaks again.

"We should talk about our marriage."

Erik straightens up immediately, fighting the urge to yawn. "Of course."

"It was a June wedding, I think," Xavier says. "You cried."

"We both did," Erik agrees. "Two years ago now. We met on vacation in Spain. I fell off the boat and you jumped in after to rescue me."

Xavier's nodding. "Good. We know I'm a microbiologist, or I wouldn't be at the convention, but what do you do?"

"This and that. Odd jobs. That's one of the things we fight about. You're rich, and I'm not."

And there's a smile, too, what looks like a real one. "That's what I was going to bring up next -- what we fight about. What else, besides money? The accident, I suppose. You'd never say it, but you didn't sign up for marriage to a cripple."

"I'm a pretty shallow bastard, then?" Erik says.

"Of course. We both are. I'm sure I only married you for your looks."

Erik laughs. "And now you don't pay enough attention to me, and I punish you by flirting with other neglected spouses."

"Like Weber's child bride. Yes. Exactly." The smile's spread across Xavier's face. Erik can almost see the cheerful man he used to pass in the hallways, back before Xavier's last field assignment went bad. "What else do I need to know, do you think?" Xavier says.

"Well," Erik says, "I'm a little spoon."

"Ha!" says Xavier. "I just bet you are."

* * *

  
It's late when they make it to the hotel. Xavier signs them in, using the credit card Moira's provided; a whole forged history attached to it, evidence both of the imaginary life Charles Francis and Max Eisenhardt have shared and of the detailed work their company puts in.

"I sleep on the right," Xavier says, when they get to their room.

"That's fine," Erik says. He doesn't have a side of the bed, per se -- he can sleep anywhere -- but he prefers being the closest to the door, so Xavier's preference works out. He dumps their suitcases upon the mattress. "Do you want to use the bathroom before I get ready for bed?"

"No, go ahead," Xavier says. He's going through the papers the hotel's left on the table, but he looks up after a second. "Actually, before you do -- perhaps we should have a conversation about, well. The telepathy thing."

Erik blinks at him. "What is there to talk about?" he says, genuinely confused. "I signed the mutation agreements just like everyone else when I was hired. I expect you to do whatever's necessary for the mission."

"It will only be for the mission, you understand, then," Xavier says. "You don't need to worry about me crossing some line personally."

"Of course not." Erik is starting to feel impatient, and a little angry, though he's not certain whether the anger is actually aimed at Xavier or not.

"All right," Xavier says. His voice is mild, and he returns his attention back to the papers. "Enjoy your shower."

Usually Erik takes fairly short, utilitarian showers, but tonight he heats the water until it's practically scalding, lets the steam vapor fill every inch of the room, standing under the shower head for much too long of a time.

He had noticed Xavier from the beginning. Of course he had. He was... bright. Brighter than everyone else, somehow. Erik had seen him around, passed him in the cafeteria or getting coffee. Xavier always had a smile, a joke. He flirted with everyone. Raven had seen Erik watching, and she'd mocked him for it, but Erik was just preparing, collecting all the data before he made his move. He had made his plan, and he was ready to set it into motion, finally, and ask Xavier out, as soon as Xavier got back from his latest assignment.

Except Xavier had come back from that mission with a bullet in his back.

Erik hadn't seen him again for months, after that. And then his hair was longer, and he'd grown a beard, and the easy smile was gone. Mostly he kept more or less to himself, or with a couple of close friends, off in the research departments. This afternoon in Moira's office was the first time Erik had talked to him since.

He's still brighter than anyone else, though, whatever that meant. Erik still can't look at him without wanting to touch, and learn, and turn them both inside out.

Well. Erik's a professional. He's survived a million times worse.

Xavier's already in bed when Erik finally makes it out of the bathroom. All the lights are out except for the lamp nearest Erik.

Erik crawls under the fluffy, white covers, and uses his powers to snap the last light off.

He closes his eyes.

Xavier's voice comes through the darkness. "Goodnight, Erik."

Erik bites his lip. "Max," he reminds him."

"Right," Xavier says. "Of course. Goodnight, Max. Darling."

Erik huffs out a breath, amusement or impatience or ... he doesn't know, really. It doesn't matter. "Goodnight, Charles," he says firmly, and he turns on his side to sleep.

* * *

  
It's an easy mission, in the end, certainly one of the smoothest Erik has ever been involved in. Simple enough for him to befriend young Katarina Weber, friendless and attention-starved as her marriage has left her; simple enough for Charles to strike up a few conversations with Dr Weber between panels, and telepathically gather the information of where in their rooms he's keeping the vaccine sample. Erik spills a coffee on Katarina at lunch, all apologies, and accompanies her back to the room for her to change, and voila: the switch is made. Mission accomplished.

All that is left is waiting out the rest of the conference, continuing to play their parts. This, too, is easy. Too easy, really. Erik is quickly becoming accustomed to the casual hands on shoulders, the private smiles and jokes, the kiss on the cheek when Charles leaves the dining table before him. The way they wake up with their bodies touching in the morning.

It's a problem. Erik's always been certain of his objectivity, proud of it, even. None of this would have happened if he had to go undercover with Raven; they understand each other too well. They slept together for six months, and it never affected either of them, friendship or work.

Charles is different.

* * *

  
"How did you get into the industry?" Charles asks.

It's the final night before check-out, and Erik's just come back in from his shower. His hair is still dripping onto his t-shirt, and for a split-second he thinks he sees Charles's eyes flicker down the line of his body, chest and crotch and bare legs below his boxer shorts, before his focus returns to the glass of wine in his hand.

Erik would doubt it happened, but he's been very well-trained in the art of noticing tiny details.

He lets it go for now, saying, "No small talk tonight, I take it?"

Charles flashes him a smile. "Not exactly in the mood."

"I understand." He does. Erik flops himself down on the bed with a sigh, letting one hand run through his hair. "How I got started -- it's not a pretty story. I didn't... Loss. Revenge. Obsession. You must know a thousand variations on it." He still has nightmares of Shaw sometimes, even with the man a dozen years gone. "I was on my own, totally rogue, and I didn't even know there were other options. If Moira hadn't brought me in, I'd be dead already." Who knows how many other people he would have taken with him, Erik thinks with a frown.

He doesn't fool himself that the things he does now make him a good person, but at least he's working toward a good end. It's something.

Erik rubs his face, suddenly weary. He's not used to talking about himself -- not about his real self, at least. "What about you?"

Charles shakes his head. "My story is boring. Raven had been recruited, you know, and she turned them on to me. I had just finished graduate school, and it was time to decide what to actually do with my life now that I had all these degrees, and -- I suspect I thought it sounded fun. Like the whole thing would be a bit of a lark." He takes a large swallow from his wine. "I was rather a fool, you see."

Erik doesn't think of himself as being bad at this; it's a huge part of his job, conversing with people, charming or intimidating or just passing by unobtrusively. But talking feels impossible, here with Charles. Responses come to his lips immediately, but they're all horrifying enough to be rejected just as quickly. _I think you're lovely_. Or _I would kill the man who hurt you, if he weren't already dead._ Or _Let's get married for real._

"You've never struck me as a fool," is what Erik finally allows himself to express.

Charles looks over at him, and he appears surprised, and oddly gratified. "Thank you," he murmurs. "That means a lot."

It's Erik who has to look away, then. He clears his throat. "I'm turning in. Are you coming to bed?"

"Soon," Charles says, taking another sip from his wine.

* * *

  
The soft noises of Charles moving himself onto the mattress wake Erik up -- an hour later, he estimates, perhaps two. Erik keeps his eyes closed and his breathing regular, ready to fall back asleep again as soon as he's sure Charles is asleep as well, but after a few minutes of silence, Charles speaks.

"I know you're awake."

Erik gives up his pretense and rolls over to face him. The room's dark, but he can just make out Charles's face, the glimmer of his eyes. "Hello."

"Hello," Charles mirrors back. "Hello, Max, my beautiful husband. What a shame we're getting that annulment tomorrow. I'll miss you."

"You're a little drunk."

"Just a little." Erik can't quite read the smile Charles gives him. Charles reaches out and strokes his finger across the fabric covering Erik's shoulder, and then down his bare biceps. His smile widens at Erik's shiver.

"You shouldn't miss Max," Erik says. "He's an user and an asshole, anyway. You can do better."

"Hmm," Charles says. He's quiet for a moment, though he doesn't move his finger from Erik's arm. Finally, he says, "What about you, Erik? Would you be doing better?"

"What do you mean?" Erik says, and it's probably a measure of all his training, all these years, that keep his body relaxed and his voice cool, despite every way his reflexes want him to react.

Charles is tracing some kind of pattern on Erik's skin, and his eyes are focused in that direction, not meeting Erik's gaze. "Raven told me, you know," Charles says thoughtfully. "That you were planning to ask me out. I waited for weeks, and it never happened. And then -- and then, afterwards, I suppose things had changed too much, and you weren't interested anymore."

"No," Erik says. "No, that's not true. I just -- there never seemed to be the right time." He brings his own hand up to grasp at Charles's, suddenly afraid the touch will leave and never come back. Charles allows it, shifting his grip until they're palm to palm, fingers lacing together.

"Now seems like as good a time as any, doesn't it?" Charles says, the slightest hint of breathlessness in his voice that Erik can't resist.

He crawls over the bed, those inches dividing them, and then he kisses Charles. And they kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

* * *

  
Raven laughs at them both, of course. Moira looks pained and make a comment to Charles about the possibility of going into _too_ much detail in post-mission reports and debriefing.

Erik tries to keep a neutral, unreadable face, the same one that he's practiced and survived by all the years he's been working; but he can tell, every time he looks at Charles, that Charles can see right through it.


End file.
